Rising Storm [ Ink!Sans x Reader ]

17. Light and Shadow

In these strange old times, when fantastic dreams and madmen's reveries were realised among the actual circumstances of life, when two figures alone together in the world of white travelled side and side, wandered through the unseen path towards the castle of black with shadows and spirals that grasped at the sky, desperate to bring down the whole of existence to its knees, did the last bearers of light stand at the foot of shadow, daring to tread into the unknown.

For the an awful darkness was settling into the bones of the Void, creeping through the veins of the universes and into the minds of every living creature. At the reign of their king was the whole of life itself beginning to unravel, trillions of years coming apart in moments, breaths of a second.

They were the last chance, the one who carried the paintbrush, never a gun, did you notice that? The last chance that the multiverse could produce to secure a future of prosperity and freedom. It had scoured every corner of creation and found meagre scraps of light, the small glimmers of hope that still dared to tread in the world of nightmares and shadows.

But it was true what they said. In order for an object to cast a shadow, there must be light shining down upon it. Therefore, no matter how many times Nightmare and his serpents of shadow combed every corner of creation, attempted to stamp out the thought of hope from those he claimed dominion over, a glimmer of light, a shadow of hope would still manifest, if even the slightest.

The painter was not alone in his journey to the castle with its massive spiralling towers that stretched out into the sky. He was joined by an old friend lost to the ravages of insanity, whose mind had been twisted and tormented beyond recognition through years of solitude and isolation, where the song of the Void had called out to him and he had hated it.

It was true what they said, there was always a song within the Void if you knew how to listen. Each and every universe produced one note, one voice, that unified in harmony to one never ending song that would continue on for eternity or when the last universe had perished from existence, whichever one came first.

Some listened to the song of the Void and felt inspired as the painter had. Some, like the glitch of the comedian, had listened to the music with disdain and allowed it to manifest a deep and profound hatred inside themselves for each and every living thing, for life itself was a constant noise that would never go away until the last living creature heaved the final breath from its lungs.

One could only wonder what the song of the Void was called.

Ink had not said much when Error had delivered the news, described with almost a sadistic glee that the human had surrendered their mind over to Nightmare for reasons unknown. Since then the painter's thoughts were abuzz, struggling to piece together an explanation as to how the human could have possibly been stupid enough to let Nightmare into their mind.

He thought back to when he had first awoken on the cold floor of the king's castle, two piles of dust sitting inches away from one another, one topped with a black crown and the other a golden bow, one belonging to Dream and the other to Nightmare's previous vessel.

It seemed, or at least what the painter thought, that Dream and (Y/n) had collaborated, met somehow again through the circumstances of life, and devised a plan to rid Nightmare from the face of creation. Because it was true that for a fleeting second, when a willing vessel had allowed Nightmare to corrupt their mind and soul, that the vessel still had control over their form as Nightmare asserted dominion over their body.

So essentially, it was possible for someone to accept Nightmare into the very intricate works of their coding and kill themselves at the same time, which would ultimately eradicate the shadow king's mind from the face of existence, sacrificing their soul in the process as well.